Turn Away, Before It Scars Your Memory, For When All Departs, Tis All That Remains

Take a moment, for your eyes to focus, upon this frozen agony of time Death has many forms in this wasteland; hold your breath short for death is impatient For if nature would bless this blasted land with fruit, it would taste of bitter sorrow To touch this land, its earth and sand, you will wince in pain Cover your ears, for this sound of desolace will drive the sanest men insane I am the scar left when you inflict your wounds I am the innocent in your games of greed. © Samir Georges 2006